Life in the trenches
by Tilthanial
Summary: This is a Call of Duty fic, but I couldn't find a better spot for it. Corporal Bill Taylor's life after Normandy. Review it.
1. It happened at the farm

…you'll just die tired

"All right men. The 3rd Armored is just a few miles out, so we need to hold here until they arrive. Taylor, grab that sniper rifle and get to your hide-spot. Don't let anyone by without a warning."

"Will do, Sarge." I hefted the sniper rifle and an M1 carbine before heading to the barn. As I climbed the ladder to the loft one of the cows shifted nervously. It could sense that trouble was incoming. The soft hay was a welcome relief from the hedgerows that I had spent the last week in. Apart from the stench of the dead Germans, this was a perfect spot to sleep. We hadn't had enough time to bury the dead since we took the town yesterday. Their bodies lay in the nearby creek-bed. Forty-three of the fifty-some Germans had died or were captured defending the town. We had attacked just before dawn, when they were least ready. I still could remember their surprised looks as we attacked. One moment they were huddled around a little fire, probably exchanging stories and coffee; the next moment they were falling like flies as we mowed them down. The sight of the seven fresh notches on my rifle almost shamed me in the gloating of their deaths. _War is war_, I thought. _They lost. I won._

The town was as quiet now as it was then, just before we attacked. Barring the stench and occasional brass shell casings, it looked like war had never touched this sleepy little town. I fought hard just to keep my eyes open as I casually scanned the area for grey uniforms.

A lone dog sauntered out into the middle of the street and sniffed at the ground. I focused on it for a moment and smiled. The dog wandered in circles where we had just fought less than twenty hours earlier. After a few minutes of watching the dog I began to scan the woods again. As I swung over to check the left flank the dog's ears shot straight up and it began to bark loudly. Instantly my sights were trained on the dog's location, searching for targets. Nothing showed in the tall grass that swayed gently in the breeze.

The dog crouched low and began pacing back and forth in front of the grass, occasionally sticking its nose in and growling. After a minute it gave up and stalked off huffily from the offending meadow. I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed slightly. That had been close. _They could be sneaking up anywhere, just out of sight. I need to stay focused._ The dog turned back one last time as it left the intersection. It paused faintly and let out a final growl. Then it pounced.

The dog was a brown streak as it shot across the road and launched itself into the brush. I tried to see through the wildly shaking grass and find a target but none showed. At last the dog emerged victorious, carrying a dead raccoon in its mouth. Blood dripped down from its muzzle in several places as it began feasting casually on the vermin.

I laughed lightly as I realized how hyped up I had gotten over the incident. Randall would have a cow when he heard about it. I could already hear him in my head, berating me for hunting down coons when there were Krauts around. _"Darn it, Taylor. You aren't getting paid to have fun hunting freaking vermin out here. You're getting paid to hunt the vermin being raided by those vermin. Next time you do that I'll send you out with a black powder instead of a thirty-ought."_

_This will last for a while._ The smile faded as I scoped the raccoon. A small piece of fabric was caught in its teeth. It was Kraut gray, freshly smeared in mud. There wasn't any mud around for at least half a mile. They were close.

The grass rustled quietly from where the dog had attacked the raccoon. Curious, I slowly scanned the area from left to right and back. _Hopefully it is another raccoon. Or even a nice fat pheasant. Those grow real fat around here…_

A dull grey helmet rose from the grass, quickly followed by five more. The six Germans checked the area for threats and signaled behind them. Twenty more helmets poked up from the grass. A full platoon. _Oh…dang. We're really in the crapper. I've got to warn Randall._

The German troops spread out across the grass and presented a hedge of rifles and submachine guns. It would be suicide to shoot this close to them. It would be suicide to do anything. I was totally screwed.

One of the Germans took off his helmet and placed an officer's cap on his head. He waved his MP-40 in the air and the twenty five others crossed the road five at a time. I saw my chance and took it without hesitating.

As the last five got up to go none of the Germans were looking at the barn. There was a tiny chance that they wouldn't notice me. The German's forehead slid easily into the crosshairs as I focused on him. The man was a perfect specimen of human fitness. Perfectly proportioned facial angles, bulging muscles, he was a well-built man. And a dead one.

The rifle barked out loudly as it sent forth its messenger of death. The German's head snapped backwards and he fell without a sound. I blinked as I shot, and when my eyes opened it was as if he had never been there. The only sign of his previous existence was a smattering of gore on the grass blades. A second had passed, but it felt like an eternity as the Germans realized they were under attack.

A handful of rounds tore through the woodwork to my left as the nearest Germans opened fire. I rolled to the right and bumped against the barn wall. _Not good._ More bullets shredded the area where I had just been as the Germans triangulated fire on me. I needed to move fast. At least my squad could hear the racket.

The German's kept up a steady suppressive fire on me as half of the platoon advanced to cover the incoming paths. My squad would be walking into an ambush if they came in from HQ. I needed to warn them somehow.

A bullet punched a hole in the wood work by my left ear and bounced off one of my fragmentation grenades. The idea of chucking one came to mind, but I dismissed it quickly. It would take too long and they were too far away. I would have to wait for them to get closer.

And closer they got. I peeked out from a window and brought my sights up as swiftly as I could. Seven of the Germans were leapfrogging their way to the barn, alternating firing and advancing. They didn't notice me in the window. The man leading them looked like a sergeant. _Perfect._

I willed my heart to slow and centered the sights on the man's chest. He was moving erratically to avoid fire, so I could not get a good shot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a two-man team stop behind a wall and pull something out. _Panzerfaust!_ _Oh screw this._ The men took a second to aim before launching the projectile at the barn.

I fired as soon as the sergeant's body crossed the sights and pushed off away from the wall. With luck the hay would absorb the blow. It would take a miracle to survive this. _A miracle and something more._

The whole side of the barn turned into a gigantic fireball as the round detonated prematurely. A titanic wave of heat and energy threw me across the barn and into the pig troughs on the far side. I blacked out for a second from the force of the blow.

When I revived I gasped desperately for breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire and I couldn't hear a thing except for a steady ringing noise. I was alive. Looking down at my outfit caused my heart to leap into my throat. Blood drenched my uniform everywhere. It looked like I had been skinned and the blood had been drained onto my body through my clothes.

My first instinct was to check for wounds. I couldn't find any apart from the occasional scratch and burn. I searched the barn for an explanation and saw the cow. _Or what remained of it._ Chunks of gore and meat covered the entire barn. Where the cow had once stood was nothing but a pool of blood. If not for the situation I would have fallen over laughing. _Poor cow. We would have eaten him anyways._

The bolt on my Springfield had melted from the heat, gluing it in place. That left me with my M1 carbine. _Thank God I keep a spare._ The only problem was that I only had two clips for it. Not enough, considering I was facing a whole platoon. I needed all of my skill for this.

As I searched for a good spot to defend from, I finally noticed the full extent of my predicament. Not only was one whole side of the barn practically gone, the rest of it was on fire and burning fast. German voices were already sounding around the back, so I could not retreat. I was stuck here for my last stand.

Thankfully the flames died out rather suddenly. A lone pig trough was untouched by the destruction around it. Two feet high and several inches thick, the hard wood would provide a minimal barrier against the German bullets. It would have to do.

I had just gotten behind it when the first of the Germans entered from behind. The lone scout looked around nervously. He obviously did not like the idea of searching a burning barn for a sniper. The man called back to his comrades that all was clear. His allies were not convinced. With a self-pitying sigh the Kraut walked carefully into the middle of the barn, right past my trough. It was not his lucky day. His MP-40 jammed when he accidentally pulled the trigger. His already nervous state of alert turned to panic as he fumbled with the cocking mechanism of his submachine gun.

My standard issue K-bar bayonet knife slid silently out of its sheath as I rose to a crouch. When the Kraut's back was fully turned I dove into him, jabbing at his throat. He fell with a soft thud as I plunged the knife into the soft tissue at the base of his neck. He did not have time to shout for help before I had finished him off. I picked up the MP-40 and finished unjamming the gun before dragging his body behind a pile of hay. He only had a handful of clips on him, but his Luger was freshly cleaned and loaded. I scavenged his ammo and prepared for the rest to come.

One of the Germans stuck his head into the barn and called out for the man. When he did not get a response, he motioned behind him and two more followed him into the barn. The three men fanned out and scanned the barn for any signs of life. Two of them carried Kar-98 Mauser rifles. The other had a Gewher 43. Horrible close-combat weapons. I had a fair chance against them.

The Germans advanced through the barn slowly, meticulously searching every square inch of ground for clues. I waited until they weren't looking in my direction and lobbed one of the German-made grenades past them at the doorway. The explosion startled them and caused them to spin around. Screams from outside greeted my ears as yet another lucky break as I rose to my feet and trained the MP-40 in the farthest man.

The submachine gun's recoil kicked the second and third rounds high, but the first one did its job. The German armed with the Gewher slumped over and fell in a heap across the remains of the cow. By the time the other two had turned back, I had readjusted and was squeezing the trigger carefully.

The second German dropped his gun and fell to the ground as two rounds tore through his legs. Three more rounds caught him in the arm in his fall and pitched him around into the dirt floor. The third German managed to fire in my direction but aimed to high. The round passed harmlessly past my helmet as I switched targets. Seeing that he was done for, the German tossed his weapon away and fell to his knees with his hands in the air. I recognized his Polish tongue as he begged for mercy.

My first instinct was to mow him down after seeing the atrocities committed by similar conscripts at the Point. Something inside me, however, stayed my finger as I relaxed on the trigger. Images from the training film of what the Germans did to the Polish came to my mind. The poor sap had probably been threatened into joining. I couldn't shoot him in cold blood.

"Stay down." I said while waving him onto his belly. "Don't move."

The Pole complied and stretched out on the floor with his hands behind his head and with his face firmly pressed in the dirt. He must have had this happen before, for he seemed to know my next order before I spoke.

"Take off your belt. Lose your weapons."

He hurried to do as ordered. After ridding himself of all weapons, he pointed to the soldier I had wounded and said something I could not understand. I asked him to repeat and he made a gesture of dressing a wound. I nodded affirmatively and the Pole reached over to dress his comrade's wounds. Under my careful eye he stripped away the man's weapons and ammo before ripping open the fabric around the wounds.

I blanched when I saw the damage done the bullets. The man's leg was a mess of bone and blood from the knee to his ankle. The man's arm was even worse. Three evenly placed holes had shattered his forearm in two places. The arm was limp and jelly-like as the Pole tried to dress the wound. Despite his best efforts, he could not get the arm in place.

I knelt by the man and offered help while keeping an eye on the doorway. Under my supervision the Pole was able to brace the arm and fix the broken bones in place. I offered him my morphine syringe but he declined. Reaching into his own chest pocket, he pulled out two similar syringes and injected the man with the painkiller. The Pole noticed my shocked expression at his possession of American issued med supplies and quickly explained in broken English, "From… drop, planes."

_Oh. Supply drop. It makes sense, I guess. Our planes were really off that night._

The sound of footsteps alerted me to the presence of more people. Nearby shooting startled me. I readied my gun and glanced nervously at the Pole. If he would try to jump me it would be now.

To my surprise, Sergeant Randall strode through the smoking barn doors and waved at me cheerfully. "Hey Taylor, nice mess that you made."

Half a squad of Infantry regulars followed him into the barn and took up firing positions on the ruined side. From there they poured fire into the unprotected flank of the German platoon. A few of them fell before the whole unit disintegrated. Half of the soldiers dropped their weapons while the others tried in vain to flee. A pair of Jeeps rushed down the road and caught them in the middle of the field. They reluctantly surrendered to the Americans sitting behind the Fifty-cal machineguns.

Randall idly picked a splinter out of his uniform. "Gosh, Taylor. You're a mess. Did you take a bath in someone's corpse?"

I laughed and shook his hand. "Thanks, but you should see the cow. This is all from it."

"Darn it, that was going to be my dinner. They'll pay for that."

"Sure." I waved off an approaching medic and pointed to the injured Germans. "I'm fine, doc. Take care of them, they're Polish conscripts."

Braeburn stepped into the barn at the head of my squad. They were all fine. "Man, Taylor. You did good out there. Nailed a lieutenant and a sergeant. That'll be one more on your tally."

"One more? I thought I missed the sergeant."

"Nope, you pegged him in the gut. He'll be fine, but he can't move at all. They are moving him back to HQ for interrogation."

I learned the whole story at HQ. Elements of the 3rd Armored had reached the village shortly after I left for the hide-spot. With Randall's help they deployed in a defensive screen around the village perimeter. Several other attacks had hit along the perimeter at the same time as mine. Altogether a full company of paras and two platoons of conscript infantry had assaulted the town with disastrous results. The 3rd's artillery and heavy support cut the German attacks to ribbons. On my side of town, the unit sent to reinforce me had been tied up with the second conscript platoon. I had defended the whole left flank of the town by myself.

With the loss of two of their four German officers, the conscripts had lost cohesion and refused to advance. Randall managed to scrape together a reaction force and flank around the barn before coming down hard on their flank. In the entire string of engagements we had four wounded and no deaths. Thirteen of the Germans died and forty-two surrendered. Altogether a nearly perfect victory. We still lost the cow.


	2. Hunter or Hunted

Hunting the Hunter

_I should be used to acting point by now. It has been two weeks since the invasion. We lost our sniper before we hit the beach so I have taken his place. Sergeant Randall says it is because I am the only one with enough experience. I think it is because I am the only one crazy enough to do it._

Sgt. Randall pulled back the tent flap and marched out of the tent, leaving me stunned on my bunk. Another patrol job. I had been on every patrol since the German snipers had arrived. There were at least two, maybe more. Every morning they took pot-shots at the chow line before high-tailing it back to their base. This time we would get them.

'Mack' Rogers and McCauley were coming too. Having a BAR and a Garand beside me provided some measure of comfort. Those two could hold off a whole platoon given the situation. They were hardcore men. Neither had been in my original unit but I knew their stories. They had landed in Sicily and stopped a German counter-attack by themselves after the initial invasion.

_But that was in open fields. Everyone's fair game out here._ My boots slid on easily. After the two months that I had them they had broken in wonderfully. Not to soft, not to hard. Thank God for the people in the factories back home.

The moon was still high in the sky when I lifted the flap and poked a head out of my tent. Rogers and McCauley were already waiting. They glared at me as I ducked back into my tent to grab my ammo and gear.

"What are you waiting for, an invitation?" Rogers asked as I reached the sentry post, still hooking up my camo-webbing. "Jerry's not giving you one. So haul butt and let's go."

The moon cast ominous shadows in the hedgerows as we slipped silently away from the camp. There would be no lights on this patrol. We wanted to catch the Jerry snipers with their pants down. That made our job a lot easier and harder. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face as I belly-crawled through muddy farmland.

It took us an hour to get in position. Every few feet a twig would snap or a wild animal would upset a bush near us, forcing us to huddle under cover and wait for the noise to die down. Once during the journey a fox poked its head out of a hedge right by my face. I was so scared I almost shot it. Then Rogers tapped my shoulder and we continued on.

Rogers and McCauley were not nearly as bad once they were on a mission. I knew only too well how important the man beside you was once the shooting started and so did they. We covered each other's backs as we made the arduous crawl across the hedgerows. The only signals we needed were by hand, none of us spoke.

We finally reached the other side of the hedgerows. Rogers and McCauley took up flanking positions nearby as I carefully unzipped the black water-proof bag containing my precious sniper rifle. It was brand new from the States. Randall had made a point to specifically order a rifle for me after the first lost its bolt. Unknown to the quartermaster, he had also requested several non-standard upgrades that one of his friends in the factory had secretly put on it. The scope was a 15x instead of the usual 10x, it had a longer barrel for greater accuracy and the weapon was reinforced with a few thin strips of plastic for reduced recoil. I was proud of it.

It was near dawn. The Germans would be appearing anytime now. I checked the scope several times as I waited. Out of habit I found myself rubbing my hands against the stock of the rifle. The smooth cold feeling of the stock felt refreshing in the dreary morning. Rogers noticed what I was doing and tossed a rock at my boot. It struck the rubber sole with just enough force to awaken me from my revere. I scowled at him and returned my attention to the fields ahead.

Sure enough the Germans appeared just before the sunrise. The noise of the engines appeared first as a gentle hum, and then grew steadily until they came into view. There were lots of them. A whole armored column came down the road from the German lines, two Mark IVs and a Puma, plus an assortment of halftracks and troop trucks. Rogers, McCauley and I exchanged bewildered glances. This wasn't a sniper detachment, this was an assault force.

I drew a bead on the lead tank commander and swore under my breath. His insignia read '246th Panzer.' With a nod from Rogers and McCauley I carefully loaded the rifle. The Germans had stopped at an intersection to check their maps. I had one chance to hit them before they hit us. The leaders dismounted from their vehicles and met behind the first tank. There was some kind of disagreement between the tank commander and the infantry leader, for I could hear them arguing from my position almost half a mile away.

My finger was on the trigger when the two commanders broke off and returned to their vehicles. The infantry commander climbed into his jeep and pointed to two halftracks. The fourteen men inside them clambered out and started to take up a skirmish position around the column.

Both Rogers and McCauley cursed out loud. As quickly as I could I shifted my cross hairs over to the tank leader and sucked in a deep breath. The commander looked tired and worn. I had his sleeping pill. My ringer tightened on the trigger and the rifle bucked against my shoulder. The bullet hit the German in the side of his head as the bark of the rifle rang clear across the field. He crumpled to the side and slid into his tank without a sound. I heard Rogers whistle in surprise while I shifted targets. The infantry commander was still recovering from the first round when I spat him on the cross hairs of my scope. His head moved up and down as he struggled to comprehend the meaning of the shot. _His mistake._ My second shot caught him in the throat. His body pitched backwards off of the jeep. Time seemed to slow down as his head crashed against the truck's windshield behind him and snapped forward. With a thud his body rolled off of the hood and landed in a ditch beside the road.

Rogers and McCauley opened up on the shocked Germans as they milled about uncertainly in the open field. Three fell before the rest dove for the cover of the vehicles. I caught a fourth in the thigh as he pulled his body in behind the Puma. His body landed awkwardly and spun past his horrified comrades before stopping against the wheel of a truck. Chaos broke out in the ranks of the German troops. Twenty Germans piled out of several of the trucks and lined up on the reverse side of the armored column.

Rogers looked down his sights then shook his head in disgust. "That's five down and one wounded. Good shooting Taylor." He shifted over for a better position and whistled. "Let's dust a few more before we… Oh shoot." He turned back to face me, fear on his face. "Get down!"

There was a thunderous explosion as the lead Mark IV discharged its main gun. The 88mm round tore through the hedgerow with an eerie whistle before burying itself in the ground under McCauley's feet. His face turned white and he looked at me helplessly in the split second before it erupted. He knew he was gone.

A wave of heat washed over me as the round detonated. The force of the blast pinned me against a hedge. Agonizing pain shot through my leg and my lungs felt like they had been filled with flames as I watched McCauley's lower body disintegrate before my eyes. His Garand rifle landed on my lap with his detached hand still clinging to it.

The ringing in my ears saved me from the awful sounds emancipating from Rogers. The grizzled veteran melted at the sight of his buddy's death. He rushed over to McCauley's corpse and fell on it with tears streaming down his cheeks. The battle was forgotten as he cradled his dead friend's head in his lap, oblivious to the bullets that began snapping through the air around him.

"Rogers." I shouted louder than I needed to, but I didn't care. McCauley was dead. We could tend to him later. Right now we needed to face the Germans and keep them from reaching the hedgerows.

I peeked over the crater and spied the Germans advancing cautiously. They were strung out in a skirmish line with ten men covering them from the column. The tank had returned to its normal position facing the road. That meant the halftracks and Pumas were…

Four MG34s from the column opened up on my position, sending lines of bullets impacts flashing past my head. Rogers was still hunkered down with McCauley's body. He looked like he was about to seizure from the shock. I was alone.

A second burst from the MG34s kicked up dirt by my feet and I played dead. No sense tempting the fates. At least they might stop shooting. Then I could fire once or twice before running.

Sure enough, the machinegun fire died off as I lay facedown in the ditch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Germans advancing more boldly now. A five-man team was edging forward nervously but surely, guns trained on our position. There was a menacing clack as the bolts slid back on their Schmeissers. _Crap._

McCauley's Garand rifle still had three rounds in the clip. Slowly, so as not to give away the fact that I was still alive, I shifted the weapon into the gap blown in the hedgerow. The first Germans to pop their heads in would get a nasty surprise. Then it would be over.

Three pairs of steel boots crunched on the dirt close by. I could see the grey uniforms behind the hedgerows; I could hear them whispering back and forth. Two Mauser barrels poked out cautiously from the other side, sweeping the area. Rogers didn't notice them. He was still clinging to McCauley's body in a futile chance that he might not be dead.

The four Germans crossed the hedgerow two at a time. They did not notice me and surrounded Rogers. He still ignored them. I leveled my rifle on the farthest Jerry and prayed for speed. Then I squeezed the trigger.

The round flew straight and true. It slammed into the man's face just below his helmet and blew out his forehead. The body crumpled backwards and landed in a sitting pose against the other hedgerow. I switched targets as they spun around and fired twice at the next one. The first bullet glanced off of his rifle's breech and shattered against his bayonet scabbard. The impact, however, threw him backwards into the path of the second shot. There was a puff of blood as his shoulder splintered at the joint. He fell heavily on his side and did not bother trying to get up.

My last shot took the third German in the thigh. He stumbled forward and landed clumsily on his opposite knee, blood spurting out from his wound. The Garand's clip shot straight up in the air with its distinctive ping noise as I traced the path of his fall. His eyes were full of fear as I jabbed out with the muzzle of the gun. His head snapped to the side as the barrel crashed into his temple. He rolled away from the blow with the intention of coming up ready to fight, but his leg gave out and he collapsed on the ground.

The other two Germans rushed me and pinned me against the hedge. I lashed out at the first and winced in pain as my knuckles broke on his knee. He continued on with a grunt and slammed his rifle butt into my stomach. I gasped as the air left my lungs. The second German brought his rifle butt down against my cheek and stars exploded in my eyes. I thought for sure I was going to die.

One of the Germans pulled out his standard issue bayonet. Before the German could gut me, however, the sound of a BAR spilt the air. His head exploded before my eyes as several high caliber rounds punctured his helmet and punched fist-sized holes in his face. The second German spun to face the threat, but I beat him to the draw. My 1911 .45 pistol was a blur as I drew it and fired point-blank into his knee caps. The man screamed in pain and fell back on top of me, incoherent with pain. I savagely wrenched him off of me and threw his body into the waiting knife of my ally.

Rogers finished the man off with a clean slice across his throat. As blood poured out from his neck, he dropped the blade and unholstered his pistol. With a condemning deliberateness he executed the wounded Germans as they cowered on the ground, whimpering in pain and begging for mercy. I shuddered at the sight and turned to face the other Germans. They had fallen back to the armored column and were preparing for a second assault, this time it would probably be an all-out rush.

Rogers took up his place beside me with a bloody Gewher 43 slung across his back. The fire in his eyes warned me not to talk to him. He coolly picked a target in the huddled mass around the truck and began firing single shots at the German troops. Curses mingled with exclamations of pain greeted our ears as he systematically mowed down four soldiers before they found better cover and began to return fire. The lead Panzer's turret started to swing back towards our position.

"Rogers." He ignored me. His body was shaking with energy, yet he was still snapping off perfect shots at pinned the Germans down. "Rogers. We need to move." The turret stopped moving. I could picture the gunner loading a high explosive round. "Rogers." Still he did not answer. "Don't let McCauley die in vain."

With lightning swiftness Rogers dropped his BAR and spun away from the hedge. The ground shook as the 88mm cannon launched another round. Rogers and I dove for cover behind the second hedge as the round hit. Fire and heat swept over us as we huddled down against the hedge and prayed for protection. Our lungs were sucked dry of air and we could not breathe for the acrid smoke and fumes.

The wave of heat passed and we were alive. Rogers and I coughed up the dirt and slapped each other on the back. We exchanged a look that I knew meant he trusted me with his life. That meant a lot to me. He was a good man.

"You're right." He said. "He did not die in vain. Nor will I let him."

"Spoken like a true friend." I unslung my sniper rifle and checked the sights. "Reckon we've still got some fight left in us?"

"We've got enough." He reached over his shoulder and hefted the Gewher experimentally. "Just pray that this baby shoots straight."

"Straight and true." Through the now-burning hedge I caught a glimpse of the German troops edging apprehensively forward. I dropped my sights on a promising target and asked Rogers "Do you think that the MGs or tank can his us here?"

Rogers looked quizzically at me and replied "No."

"Good." I squeezed the trigger as I exhaled slowly. The bullet shot out and flew across the open field, finding its target before the rifle's report could be heard. The German corporal pitched forward into a puddle and dropped his Mp-44. I mentally noted the location of the rifle before moving to the next target. Those guns were worth their weight in gold. The MP-44 was the first real machinegun-rifle hybrid ever made. It had a full-sized thirty round clip and a burst fire that impressed anyone on the receiving end. I could sell it later or keep it as a souvenir, if I survived.

Rogers seemed to read my thoughts, because he pointed out a German soldier on the far right that was proceeding more stealthily than the others. "I want his MP. Nail the Jerry."

I obliged with alacrity. The soldier threw his hands up in the air as the round pierced his chest. Whether I killed him or not did not matter. He would not be going anywhere anytime soon.

Rogers began calling out targets left and right as the German sergeants sped up the advance. One officer after another fell before my unerring aim as I picked them apart in the open. They finally fell back after losing eight. There were now about a dozen men in the field. Those that were still alive moaned piteously for water and aid. I toyed with the idea of finishing them off, but I just as quickly rejected the notion. Doing that would make me no better than them.

A white flag poked out from behind a truck and I relaxed my trigger finger. I still held it loosely as a handful of Germans trotted out timidly carrying stretchers. None were carrying any ammo or weapons. They gathered up their wounded under my hidden gaze and carried them back to the column. I noted with satisfaction that they left the two MP-44s where they had fallen. Having accomplished their objective, the stretcher-bearers retreated back to the trucks and loaded up the wounded. White flag still raised, the remaining troops piled into the vehicles. The engines roared to life and for a second I thought that they would break the truce and attack. To my relief, the vehicles pulled off and turned around. They all began the short drive back to their camp except for one jeep. The jeep commander took one final look at the hedgerow and waved a salute in our direction. I unconsciously returned the salute and watched the commander turn back, sit down, and order the driver to return to base.

Randall called it a miracle. Division recommended us both for silver stars. Rogers and I just wanted to see McCauley's effects shipped home to his wife. He had three children in school and a fourth on the way at the time. I felt the deepest sympathy for his wife and expressed it in a personal letter that I stuck in with the package. Several of McCauley's buddies also chipped in something. Rogers gave the most though. Packed in the top of the container, cleaned, oiled and wrapped in soft fabric was the MP-44 that he took from the German soldier in the field. Nothing was too much for him to give to the widow of his best friend.


	3. Looking for Paras

Looking for Paras

_It has been three weeks since D-Day and the Airborne troops are still being rounded up. Intel says that a group of the 82nd is pinned down in a small village North-West of Paris. We have received the order to go rescue them. It figures that the Rangers lead the way._

The column of halftracks entered the town slowly, the men noting every possible source of hostile contact. I sat in the back of the last 'track with my squad. We were still sleepy from our awakening at two in the morning. I could hardly keep my eyes open as we scoured the area.

Braeburn leaned over as he listened to the radio. After a few seconds he straightened back up and passed the mike to Randall. "Battalion's on the horn, Sarge."

Sergeant Randall reached out across the halftrack and grabbed the mike. He listened for a minute and frowned. With a sigh he handed the mike back and picked up his rifle. From the look on his face I knew we were heading out.

"Listen up, squad." Everyone in the halftrack inched closer in their seats. "The reconnaissance planes have spotted a Kraut mortar position about a mile East, just on the other side of the church. They can't bomb the place because we might have friendlies nearby. Battalion wants us to clean it out." He pointed down a side road to where a little church jutted out from the ruined buildings nearby. Nearly every inch of cover had been blown clear during air strikes and artillery bombardments, but the church itself had not been touched. The sight caused me to laugh.

"You got a comment, Taylor?" Randall poked me with the barrel of his Garand. "Spit it out."

"Oh, it's nothing, sir. I was just wondering how we managed to flatten every little house on the block but our artillery couldn't even knock a shingle off of that church. For gosh sakes, it's the biggest target out there."

"Yeah, why don't you ask the artillerymen when they get here." Randall banged on the hatch separating us from the driver. The driver slid the hatch open.

"This is our stop, Thiemann."

Then Randall dropped a clip into the Garand and opened the door on the halftrack. "Let's go boys."

We piled out of the halftrack and assumed overlapping arcs of fire while Randall checked his map for the best route in. By that, I mean the longest route in. He studied it carefully for a few seconds. Finally he folded the map up and stuffed it into a pocket.

"That way, men." He pointed down a narrow alley to the right of the church. "Taylor, you lead."

_That wasn't a surprise._ I hefted my Thompson in one hand and peaked out across the alley's mouth. It was completely locked in for at least fifty yards before it opened up to a courtyard for some big house. _Oh boy._

"Anyone got a Springfield or a Garand that I could borrow?"

A passing radioman from another squad broke off from his group and tossed me his Garand along with his ammo bags. I thanked him and handed back my Thompson along with its ammunition.

"Good luck, soldier."

"You too. I'll be expecting my rifle back in one piece."

I breathed a sigh of relief as the man turned a corner and disappeared with his squad. Randall shot me a half-mad, half-stunned look which I cheerfully returned.

"Cover me, I'm going in."

My sights were firmly trained on the windows down the ally as I crept forward, one foot at a time. Ever few feet I would pause and listen to for voices. My breathing came in ragged gasps as I approached the end of the alley. The voice in my head was screaming for me to hug wall. I ignored it. Walls were bullet-funnels. I'd seen a man get his arm blown off by a flattened MG round that had scraped along a wall for a few dozen yards.

I reached the edge of the alley without incident. After a careful look around the courtyard I turned back and motioned to the others. They began the trek across, guns trained on the buildings ahead.

They were halfway across when the shutters on one of the windows were knocked aside and an MG-42 slid into position. I watched in horror as the assistant loaded a belt into the MG.

"Get down!" Randall raced across the alley in the few seconds it took for the MG to set up and dove behind the wall I was hiding behind.

"Shoot him, Taylor! Take him down now!"

His words snapped me out of my reverie and years of training took over. The Garand slipped up onto my shoulder and I placed the iron sight right on the head of the gunner. I could barely see his helmet from my vantage point, but it was the only shot I had.

The rifle bucked up twice against my shoulder as I unloaded a pair of rounds at his head. The first round glanced off of the Kraut's helmet and spun him around. The second shot was a clean miss. It shattered the window frame holding the shutter in place. The shutter pitched forward and broke off from the frame. With a loud crash it landed in front of the doorway of the house.

Seven of the ten men had reached the wall by the time the gunner got back up. Two of the three men dove across the mouth of the alley and landed behind cover. The last man was not so lucky. A burst from the MG caught him in the side as he rolled forward. He landed awkwardly and jerked twice on the ground. Randall and I reached out and pulled his body in behind cover while the others fired at the MG-42.

The corporal was bleeding from multiple entrance wounds along his side. He gasped for air and wheezed as pain racked his body. Blood sprayed out if his mouth as he coughed up the fluids in his chest.

"Sarge," the man's voice cracked as he looked at Randall. "I think I've been hit, sir."

The corporal gave a final gasp and his eyes rolled back in his head. His hands curled up in fists, allowing his BAR to fall by my side. I grabbed the man's dog tags and studied them. _William T. Heintzman._ He had been with us since D-Day.

"Taylor, blast that bugger."

I slipped the Garand over my shoulder and checked the magazine on the BAR. It was still full. That would work. The bolt slid back easily as I cocked the BAR and placed it on the wall. The Kraut was focusing on a man farther along the wall so I had a clear shot. After making sure the BAR was on auto-fire mode I dropped the sight just below the window. My finger jerked the trigger twice and I traced the bullets across the wall. Five rounds blew fist sized holes in the wall and I heard several men scream in pain. The MG-42 stopped firing and the gunner stumbled backwards from the window. I fired into the wall again and more screams came from inside.

A single Kraut got back up and tried to man the MG. I pumped another burst into the window and the German's helmet exploded. He dropped like a rock. Our squad stayed in position for a minute as we waited for movement, but nothing happened. Satisfied, Randall hurdled the wall and dashed across to the door. We all followed him in.

Randall and I moved upstairs while the rest of the squad checked the bottom floor. We came to the room where the MG had been and checked it out. Four Germans lay on the ground in various poses. Three of them had gaping wounds in their torsos from the BAR rounds, the fourth had practically no face left. Brains and gore coated the back wall and the room already smelled like a slaughterhouse.

Randall and I picked our way past the bodies and grabbed the MG-42. It was still operable and, apart from the brains splashed on the barrel, in fine shape. We carried it carefully back down and handed it off to two riflemen. Then we scanned the road ahead.

There was no sign of German activity across the road but we cold hear the mortars firing in the distance. At a nod from Randall I eased open the door and sprinted across the street.

Automatic fire erupted from a wooden house farther down the road. Lines of bullets kicked up the dirt around my feet as I made my way across the street. Randall and the others targeted the building with the MG-42 and I laid low behind a stone well as it did its work. Splinters flew in all directions as the MG tore whole sections of the wall apart. From my vantage point I saw several bodies tumble down through holes in the floor. After a minute or two the firing stopped and I signaled that the way was clear. The rest of the squad crossed two at a time, with the MG-pair going second-to-last. Once we were all across we moved on.

The sound of battle grew to our west as the rest of the American force advanced. Every little bit we caught a glimpse of the battlefield. The mortars were tearing it up for the lead elements and we hurried forward at increased speed.

Finally we reached the church. While the MG team and three others provided overwatch Randall, Braeburn, two Thompson gunners and I snuck across the yard. We reached the door without detection and lined up on either side for entry. On Randall's order Braeburn kicked open the doors and we poured in two at a time, weapons blazing.

The Germans had set up a command post in the church. Dozens of orderlies, officers and radios covered the sanctuary. A pair of radio operators came into my sights first and I plugged them with a burst from the BAR. An officer reaching for his MP40 came next; I mowed him down without a second thought as he scrambled for his weapon. One solder popped out from a pew where he had been laying, rifle ready. Bandages covered one entire side of his face and he had burn marks all along his right arm. He and I stared at each other for a heart beat, frozen in shock. Randall's Garand fired right by my ear and the German slumped backwards. The rifle fell from his nerveless grasp and his body rolled off of the pew onto the floor.

Several more wounded men appeared, but they were not armed. Before any of us could stop ourselves instinct kicked in and we shredded them with .45 caliber machine gun rounds. A female radio operator rushed into the room and we stopped. Then she reached for the pistol in her holster. Five bullets hit her chest from several directions and she spun around like a doll. Her body landed on the steps leading to the altar, arms and legs stretched out at odd angles.

The firing ceased and we took stock of the situation. Seeing what we had done, I grabbed a nearby pew and leaned over. Revulsion swept across my body and I puked on the stone floors below. The pain of the acid coating my throat was nothing compared to the guilt that flooded every inch of my body. I kept hurling until I felt that I would pass out.

A hand gripped my shoulder and I spun around, rifle cocked and loaded. Randall looked me square in the eye, concern in his face. He too looked disgusted by what had happened. His voice shook as he asked about my condition.

"Are you okay, Taylor?"

"I'm…fine, Sarge." It was obvious that I wasn't but he ignored it. He patted my back sympathetically and crossed over to the others. They were all recovering from the shock. Braeburn had taken a seat and had buried his hands in his face. He was weeping unashamedly.

The other five men crossed the road and entered the church. At the sight of the slaughter they paused, stunned. One of the men dropped his rifle in astonishment.

"Holy mother of Sapphire, what happened here?"

I swallowed the stuff in my throat and picked up the man's rifle. "What happened," I said slowly, "was that we did our job." The man nodded mutely, too stunned to respond.

Randall passed a hand over his face and gulped. His face was white as he pointed shakily towards the rear of the church. "Time to move out, men." He said hoarsely. "We still need to take out the mortars.

The squad followed him into the next room. The MG team and I found the stairway leading up to the spire and we ascended as swiftly as we could. I needed to get away from that scene.

At the top we set up the rifle and aimed down at the mortar teams below. As I trained my sights on the nearest team the machine gunner looked over at me quizzically.

"Bill, what did I see down there?"

"It had been a command post turned make-shift hospital, I think." My hands shook and I readjusted my aim. The rifle shook too much for me to draw an accurate shot so I gave up aiming.

"Ready?"

"If you are, Bill."

Time felt like it slowed as I re-aimed down at the team one of the Germans looked up right at me as I counted down from three.

"Three."

The German looked young, probably still in his late teens.

"Two."

After a moment's hesitation the German realized that I was not a friendly. His eyes widened in terror and he fell over backwards, pointing up at us and shouting out a warning in German.

"One."

The rest of the teams looked up in surprise and stood motionless. The young German reached his rifle and spun around.

"Fire!"

A hail of MG rounds tore down upon their uplifted heads. One whole team of Germans died instantly, their bodies riddled with bullets. I dropped a pair of Germans with the Garand rifle. Their lifeless bodies fell on top of each other as I switched targets.

Randall and the others opened fire from the ground floor. Half of the mortar crews were scythed down by the storm of lead. Every time I settled on a target he was knocked down by a heavy caliber round from downstairs. Finally I found a live target.

It was the young boy. He fumbled to put a clip into his Kar98 as I squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The round had jammed in the bolt. Hurriedly I dropped the Garand and unslung the BAR. The German slammed the clip home and cocked his rifle. I put in a fresh clip and leaned out for a shot. He and I exchanged a momentary glance as we aimed at each other.

I pulled the trigger, knowing it was too late. The bullet came darting up from the ground with amazing speed. A dull pain erupted in my head and I tumbled backwards. My helmet flew in one direction and I fell in the other, right into the stairwell. I skidded down several steps and landed with a thud against the wall. Then a terrible explosion erupted in the steeple and my body was hurled over the railing. A bone-jarring collision snapped my head forward and the world went black.

"Taylor, you okay?" Randall's face came into view as my eyes refocused. He and Braeburn were crouched over me, faces smeared in dirt and dust. "Taylor, answer me!"

The blur in my vision faded away and I shook my head. "I hear you Randall." My head felt like I had been beaten with a sledgehammer. "What happened?"

Randall held out a hand. I accepted it and with his help pulled myself to my feet. Taking a look up, I saw a gaping hole in the roof where the steeple had been.

"Mortar round." Randall said. "One of the tubes had failed to fire. I think we hit it and set it off. It made a heck of an explosion."

"What about the other two?" I searched the area for the BAR and the Garand. They were not in sight.

"Miles is alive," Randall answered. Seeing my gaze wandering across the floor, he waved to a nearby corporal. The corporal approached with, to my relief, the Garand rifle. "Eckerson's dead, though. At least, we're assuming he's dead. We couldn't find enough of him to tell for certain."

"Oh." I took the Garand from the corporal and shuddered. "So how many do we have left?"

"Counting you, me and Braeburn, we've got eight. Five really, because Rogers and Lief are carrying Miles back to a med station."

"Right then," After checking the clip in the Garand I slipped it around my shoulder. "Where to next?"

"One group paras have been spotted about two blocks east of here. Battalion hasn't given an order yet, but I'm expecting that they will be soon. The Krauts are hitting them hard."

"Fine with me." I picked up a fallen Kar98 rifle. A nearby German had dropped an ammunition bag and I scooped it up with my free hand. It felt heavier then usual. My head started to swim and I stumbled backwards, groping for a wall or pew. My back slammed hard against the altar and I fell to a sitting position.

"You okay, Taylor?" Randall frowned. "Perhaps you should stay here. I'll leave Thomson with you."

"No, no, I'm all right." The words died in my mouth as I tried to stand. Pain shot along my leg and I collapsed against the altar. Looking down, I noticed for the first time the extent of the damage.

Blood covered my left leg from the thigh down. Several wooden splinters stuck out at odd angles around my knee. My pant-leg was shredded and hanging in pieces from narrow strands around my calf. I was in no condition to move.

"I… think I'll just sit tight for now." I mumbled. A grimace of pain shot across my face as a new wave of pain hit. "Anyone got a shot of morphine?"

Braeburn dug into his chest pocket and pulled out a small syringe. "Here's one." He called out. I accepted it and stabbed it into my thigh. More pain caused me to shudder as I pumped the painkiller into my blood.

Randall watched me for a few seconds before shouldering his Garand. "Have fun holding the fort, Taylor. I'll send someone to pick you up in as soon as we contact the main group."

"Will do, Sarge. Just make sure you get those paras out alive."

Randall gave me a rare grin and motioned to Braeburn and McDowell. "It's time to go, boys."

"Hey, sarge," I propped myself up on my elbows, "How are you going to rescue the paras with only three men. You're not superhuman, after all."

"Battalion's sending a platoon over in this direction. We're going to join it and provide recon."

With that he and the other two disappeared around the door, leaving me and Thomson alone in the church. I struggled to my feet and limped over to a pew. Thomson helped me sit down.

"Do you need anything, Taylor?"

"No, I'm fine." A heavy sigh escaped my lips. _This place made me feel sick._ "Just gather any ammunition that you can. We might need it."

"Yes sir." Thomson hurried off to his task gathering fallen submachine guns and rifles. He piled them up at different points in the church. Then, under my supervision, he blocked up several windows and sealed off the back entrance. After doing all this he returned to check on me. The blood had ceased flowing out of my wounds, but so much had escaped that I felt dizzy and could hardly stand.

"Thomson," the words started to slur in my mouth from fatigue. "Can you find my canteen? I need it."

Thomson searched the area and brought back a canteen. It was a German one. "Sorry, but yours took some shrapnel near the cap. It's all gone."

"That's fine." I accepted the canteen and took a drink. Never in my life had I tasted sweeter water.

Thomson watched me carefully as I downed the rest of the canteen. "Sir, how long have you been in combat?"

I paused to think about the question. It had been so long since I had volunteered for service that time seemed to have mixed and slowed down. "I'd have to say about two years, Thomson. What about you?"

"This will be my second week out here, sir. I was transferred into this unit after the action near Chambois."

"Really?"

"Yes sir, this is my first combat experience-"

Thomson stopped mid-sentence as a shot rang out nearby. The shot was followed the voices of over a dozen people. _German voices_. Thomson ran to a window and peeked out across the road. He swore and ducked back down. His face was white when he turned around to face me.

"There're twelve of them out there, and they're all heading this way."


	4. In the Church

Finish the Fight

"Thomson, stay away from the window." I glanced across the room and spied one of the weapons piles that he had set up. "Take a spot near those weapons, but not right on them. A stray shot might hit them if you get too close."

Thomson scrambled to the far side of the room and huddled down behind a pew while I dragged myself to cover. My Garand was fully loaded and I had a few extra clips for the Kar98, but that was it. I was about to take on a dozen Krauts with two rifles. _We're screwed_.

Thomson still had his submachine gun though. That could help even the odds. Our survival would have to depend on speed and surprise.

Thomson signaled from across the room that he would wait for my shot. I signaled back a confirmation and leveled my rifle on the doorway.

For the longest time we heard nothing. The Germans were there, but they stayed just out of sight, watching carefully. My eyes burned from the sweat that crept in as I struggled to hold my aim. Blood still trickled from my leg, and I was starting to feel giddy. Keeping my eyes open was the last thing that I wanted to do at the moment. In a few minutes I'd be out.

After a few minutes of waiting the German's moved. A single helmet stuck out from the protective cover of the door frame. The Kraut scanned the area nervously with his Kar98. He spent a few seconds searching the church before disappearing back behind cover. I could hear them talking in German outside. There was some kind of argument going on.

The talking went on for a few minutes, then it ceased. Four Krauts edged into the church and spread out, weapons covering the opposite sides of the building. They were setting up a crossfire cover. I'd have to take them down now.

Slowly, so as not to disturb anything nearby, I raised the Garand against my shoulder and took aim at the farthest Kraut. He looked like he was only in his teens, and his lack of discipline agreed. He didn't bother taking aim at his specific area, but gazed back and forth across the building in horror at the carnage inside. His face, whether tanned or not, rapidly lost color as he stumbled on one of the corpses near the door. He nearly panicked, but a sharp bark from the sergeant held him in check.

_This will be too easy. He should surrender once I open up._ I shifted my aim to the sergeant. My iron sights settled just below his helmet, at the spot between the ear and eye. That was a major weak point in the Kraut helmet. The most fragile part of the skull, and no protection. Their bad.

Before I pulled the trigger a commotion occurred outside. The rest of the group piled into the church in a bustle. All twelve of them stacked the wall by the door and focused on the outside. I froze as I saw a thirteenth figure huddled in their mix. It was a radio operator. She was unarmed, scared. Two of the Krauts stood by her side as guards while the rest waited for whatever was happening outside to clam down. While their attention was away I sneaked a peek at Thomson. He looked impatient and was itching to pull the trigger. My guess was that he wanted revenge for Eckerson and the others. I did too, but I had seen enough from the war to push the thought out of my mind.

I looked for the highest ranking officer in the group. He was a lieutenant-rank, according to his shoulder patch. He, and most of the other soldiers, looked like fresh soldiers with no combat experience. This was probably their first time in combat. As I waited for them to all face away I caught a glimpse of their unit insignia. _Hitler Youth_. They were a bunch of kids! Brainwashed kids, but kids nonetheless.

After a second of hesitation I switched back to the sergeant and gave Thomson a meaningful glance. He caught it out of the corner of his eye and nodded. His eyes were a little wider than they had been. He must have seen the insignia too.

A muffled explosion came from outside and they all looked outside. The sergeant was wide open for a shot. I took it without hesitation. I squeezed the trigger slowly, trying to keep my aim as steady as possible until the round fired. His head snapped forward as the first shot hit him below the neck. Blood spurted straight upwards and sprayed the stunned faces of the soldiers nearby. They watched in shock as he fell slowly to the ground.

By the time he had hit the ground I had targeted the lieutenant and fired. My shot caught him in the right chest and the impact lifted him up off the ground. I fired again at his airborne body and the round tore into his throat. His body slammed limply through a broken window and landed half-in, half-out. Thankfully I was spared the horrified expression on his face.

Thomson meanwhile, had gunned down the other sergeant with a four round burst. The sergeant's corpse lay stretched out in the doorway, with three gaping holes in his chest. After the initial burst Thomson had jumped to his feet and advanced, firing aimed bursts at the clustered soldiers. Two of them fell before the others realized their predicament.

A hastily fired shot sent Thomson diving for cover and they ducked behind the pews. From my vantage point I could not see them and they had a pretty good suppressive fire concentrated on Thomson. Then I looked down and saw a grenade in my belt. After gauging the distance to the Germans I yanked the pin and waited. When it had cooked off two seconds I hurled it at the far wall. It bounced off the wall and landed in their midst with a satisfying thud. Screams of terror came from behind the pews and two soldiers dove out. Thomson and I brought them down with several bursts.

The grenade exploded in a shower of splinters and shrapnel. The pew that it had landed by disintegrated under the blast and a body rolled away soaked in blood.

_Seven down, four left_.

I peeked out to check the damage. A bullet zipped past my head and shattered on the stone wall to my right. My eyes hurt from the air pressure left by the bullet and I ducked back down to let my sight clear. After blinking a few times I picked up the Kar98. I did not remember how many rounds I had fired and did not want to run dry at the wrong time.

Cries of pain came from the German side of the building. At least two of the Germans were wounded, maybe more. I could hear them screaming for their mothers. That unnerved me. I had seen grown men cry for their mothers when they had been hit, some for their fathers, but I had never heard someone so young crying out in pain. It felt like shooting a dog that you had grown up with. I felt horrible listening to them.

Carefully, I rose from my spot and leaned against the wall.

"Drop your weapons." I cried out. There was no response. I tried again, a little louder and with a more authoritative voice. "Drop them now!"

A single German rose. Blood was streaming down from a cut in his shoulder and his nose looked shattered. Tears flowed freely down his face and he was not trying to hold them back. My guard relaxed and I let the rifle slide down until it pointed to the ground. It was over.

The soldier unholstered his Luger and raised it before I could blink.

"Heil Hitler!"

His shots went wide and I dove back behind cover. A pair of rounds shook the pew and I could see the cracks from where they had hit. Then I heard the stuttering fire of a Thompson and a meaty thumping noise as a body hit the floor. Thomson was swearing at the German. My resolve hardened and I rose back to a crouching position, rifle covering the entrance. No more chances. They were serious and wouldn't give up.

"Thomson, you all right?"

"Yeah, Taylor. I bagged the Kraut. No worries over here."

"Good. Cover me as I move up."

I limped over to a better position while Thomson made sure the Germans stayed down. Once I had reached a better vantage point I settled down and looked through the iron sight of the Kar98. I could barely see the backs of one of the Germans. From what I could tell, he had a sub-machinegun. He was a priority to take out. Quickly I scanned the rest of the area, searching for targets. I spotted the others, but could not see enough to guess what they were armed with.

"Taking my shot." I yelled to Taylor. Hopefully the Germans did not understand English.

I sighted on the German's upper back and prepared to fire. The angle of the shot meant that the first round would hit him to the left of his neck and carry on through his torso, exiting near his thigh. By then it would probably blow a huge whole in him. Not a pretty sight.

The rifle's bark seemed ominously loud in the church building. The body slumped down without a sound as the round hit. I watched it for a few seconds after the shot. It did not move. Hopefully he had died instantly. I shot him again in the heart just in case.

"That makes two left, Taylor." Thomson sounded somber as he spoke. "Do you want me to move in? I know the last ones got hit by the grenade at least."

"Negative, Thomson. I'll go. If I get shot you'd stand a better chance of getting through alone than me. After all, I'm walking wounded."

"Fair enough. Go ahead, Taylor."

With difficulty I pulled myself up and started across the church. Thomson was halfway down the pews. He nodded affirmatively as I limped past him. His grip on the Thompson tightened slightly when I came within a few pews of the rear.

The scene behind the pews was, to put it nicely, disgusting and stomach-turning. Added to the previous corpses from our initial contact were the bodies of eleven bodies, shot and ripped by shrapnel. Blood was everywhere and the overwhelming stench of burnt meat was sickening.

I detected movement in the corner of my eye and spun towards it. A terrified scream greeted me as I spun. The young woman was there, huddling in a corner and clutching an injured soldier. He was bleeding profusely from multiple places and had a gaping wound in his stomach. His entrails were bulging out of the hole onto his pants.

I moved over to help and the woman screamed at me in German. She waved frantically at me and hugged the soldier closer to herself. Thomson peeked his head out of his position where he was watching the doorway.

"What the situation, Taylor?"

"We've got one wounded and one unarmed. He's bleeding badly."

"Roger that, Taylor. Deal with it, we've got company."

German voices floated inside from the street. I chanced a look and saw another squad advancing towards the church. They were alert and heavily armed. I counted three submachine-guns and an MG-42, along with assorted rifles.

The wounded German soldier moaned piteously in his corner. His face was rapidly losing color and his breath came in ragged gasps. It did not take a genius to see that he needed medical attention or he would be a goner.

I limped over to the corner with the two Germans and grabbed the injured soldier by the shoulder. The woman slapped at my hand and tried to hold him back, but I broke her grip and started to drag the soldier towards the door. She began to sob and scrambled forward to grab him. I waved the Kar98 in her face and she froze. Her tears kept flowing but she returned to the corner, sobbing in terror.

The German knew we were in here already, so there was no point in trying to surprise them. I waved Thomson forward and he took up a position by the door. Once I had brought the soldier close enough, I left him on the ground and opened my backpack. Thomson watched me with a puzzled look as I rummaged through the pack.

"What are you doing, Taylor?"

I ignored him and kept looking until I found the object I was searching for. With a muffled chuckle I pulled it out and unwrapped it.

"Socks? What are you doing with socks, Taylor?"

"I'm trying to save our lives. Hold the German for me."

I edged the door open slowly. With the two white socks fluttering in the breeze, I leaned out and shouted at the German squad.

"Don't shoot."

They held there fire. _Good_. I shuffled forward so that I was in plain sight of the Germans and held my hands up in the air to show that I was unarmed.

"Do any of you speak English?"

One of the Germans stepped forward nervously and nodded. He spoke in clear and unbroken English.

"Do you wish to surrender, American?"

"Not on your life, German. But I've got one of yours in here and he's injured. If you've got a doctor, I'd be glad to hand him over."

The German took a step back and consulted with one of the other soldiers. The man nodded vigorously upon hearing what the soldier told him.

The soldier took a few steps forward before speaking. "My commander would be glad to have our soldier back. Bring him out."

"Not so fast, bud." I made no sudden movements, but I did take a step back towards the door. "I'm staying in here. You can come get him. Send two men, unarmed, to pick him up. I swear that we will not shoot. If you try anything though, my men and I will light them up like a firecracker."

The German frowned and reported my demand to his officer. The officer scowled but nodded.

"We will send two soldiers forward."

"Good." I stayed in sight while the two soldiers came forward. As they advanced I whispered to Thomson form the side of my mouth.

"Act like we've got a squad or so in the pews."

Thomson saluted and pointed towards the pews as the two soldiers approached the steps. While I helped the Germans pull the man through the doorway he ordered imaginary troops to keep alert at their positions around the church. The Germans grabbed their injured man and retreated. I ducked back in the door and exhaled sharply.

"What now, Taylor?"

"Good question."

The Germans had taken the man behind a stone wall and were setting up to attack. There were twelve of them, and they were prepared for us. Six of them detached from the group as I watched and snuck off towards the rear of the church. Praying quietly, picked up a fallen MP-40 and slid off towards a side window. Thomson stayed near the door, his submachine gun in his hands and a pair of rifles at his feet.

I eased the MP-40 onto a window sill near a narrow point in the path around the church. The Germans turned around the corner in single file, with two men covering each window. The lead man saw me and started to shout. I fired before he could make a noise.

The flash of the submachine gun blinded me for a moment as I pulsed the trigger. Four short bursts cut across the short distance in the blink of an eye. The lead German fell with six rounds in his torso. The man behind him took two in the head and cart-wheeled backwards into the wall. The next two were luckier. One took a round in the leg and collapsed awkwardly to the side. The other was hit in the arm and spun about like a top. He regained his balance and fired blindly at the window, but I had already ducked down and moved to the next window, right above them.

Their surprise was complete when I leaned out over them and emptied the remainder of the clip into the two men guarding the rear. They both fell before they knew I was even there. Then I ducked back down and grabbed a clip from my belt. I smiled grimly as I heard the other two chattering nervously in German. I started to move off to the original window when something long and wooden banged off my helmet.

I looked at the ground in horror as the grenade hit the floor. A second grenade quickly followed it in, landing on my other side. With nowhere to run, I dove for the nearest pew and pulled myself in.

The following blasts shook me like a doll. I could smell the sickly scent of blood on my face and slowly fell unconscious.


	5. Rescue

The ominous crunching of heavy boots on the shattered glass greeted my ears as I regained consciousness. Salty blood filled my mouth, making breathing painful as the air passed over cuts and uncovered nerves. German voices were all around, talking back and forth rapidly. A pair of German soldiers came into view and I instinctively looked for my rifle. It was nowhere to be seen.

The German soldiers stared at me curiously as I struggled to pick myself up off the ground. One pointed and turned to face an unseen officer. There was a short, barked order and the two soldiers approached. They grabbed me by my shoulders and lifted me onto a pew. I took the opportunity to look around at the damage.

The pews that I had hidden under had taken the brunt of the two grenades explosions. They were literally in pieces, with massive chunks of wood scattered all across the floor. Two small crater-like pock marks showed me the location of the grenades. They had been less than three feet away when they went off. Those pews must have been solid oak.

The air still smelled like gunpowder, so the battle must have ended in the past few minutes. I chanced a peek at the door and groaned. Thomson was dead. His bloodied body was slumped against the back pew. He had been shot at least seven times.

A German soldier walked by and snarled at me. He lifted his rifle as he passed and brought it down on my head as I tried to sit up. Stars exploded in my eyes and I fell back, ears ringing. The Kraut snarled at me again and continued on to the back of the building. German soldiers were moving the bodies and piling them up against the door, probably to form a barricade.

Shells were exploding nearby, shaking the frame of the church. The Germans were talking back and forth quickly, and more than one looked nervous. They were all peeking out the windows and sweeping the area with their rifles. I decided against trying to get up again and rested against the pew, closing my eyes. I concentrated on the letter I had gotten from home yesterday in an effort to block out the pain.

It was a nice long letter from my sister in Detroit. She had volunteered to work in a factory that was making ammunition for anti-air batteries. Her hours were long and the pay was not great, but she was proud to be doing something to help the war effort. I imagined seeing her at an assembly line, measuring the gunpowder in the rounds and smiled in spite of the pain. She was always the hard worker in the family.

My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a machinegun fire close by. I jerked my head up to look and saw a German soldier rush into the church, bleeding in the arm. From where I was, I could hear him. The only thing I understood was 'Americans.'

I raised my head to get a better view of the church. One of the of the German sergeants was peering out of a window, looking down the street. I saw his eyes widen a split second before his head disappeared in a rush of blood. The body collapsed backwards onto the ground and gunfire erupted all around me.

The Germans stepped up to the windows and poured a tremendous amount of fire out at the unseen sniper. They riddled the area from where the shot had come with enough shots to put down a whole platoon of soldiers. They fired until they had emptied their clips, then stepped back down and reloaded. That was a mistake.

The wall to the right of the door exploded inwards, taking down two Krauts that were standing behind it. They fell screaming to the floor as razor sharp chunks of shrapnel tore through their bodies. Right behind the explosion came a squad of fully armed paratroopers. They mowed down the Germans nearest the door, pumping each one with at least three rounds as they rushed the room.

It took the Germans a few seconds to respond to the unexpected threat. By the time they realized that they were under attack, half of them were dead on the ground. The rest dove for cover and returned fire blindly. Soon the air was full of bullets flying in every direction. I huddled up in my pew, praying that none of the bullets would hit me.

The Americans were now as pinned down as the Germans, with men from each side popping up for a second at a time to fire before being sent scurrying by a ferocious return fire. The whole church was now a death trap. I shuddered as a grenade flew past my head and exploded. Two men shrieked in agony and fell into the aisle, where they were promptly blown away by rifle fire.

A handful of Germans were left, but, by the sound of it, they all had Schmeissers. Every time a paratrooper lifted his head for a shot, a burst of fire swept across the pew. The situation looked like it was at a standstill.

A second explosion rocked the building and a handful of American soldiers poured out of one of the back rooms, rifles blazing. The German soldiers went down instantly, but not before one had tossed a potato masher. The grenade went off in the midst of the charging GI's, knocking three off their feet. Muffled groans told me that they were still alive.

A paratrooper cautiously raised his head above the pew and called out, "Anyone left in here?"

I raised a trembling hand, and a handful of soldiers rushed to my aid. I started to black out again as they crowded around me, but I saw the distinctive patch of an army medic right before I lost consciousness.


End file.
